


We Can't Be Friends

by sharipep



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan - Freeform, Daddy!Killian, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Originally posted on FFNET literally 4.5 years ago, finally posting on AO3, no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23135905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharipep/pseuds/sharipep
Summary: This was written for CS AU Week in 2015 (!!!) [Day 6 – Modern Trope: Childhood BFFs Secretly In Love], and I posted on FFNET & Tumblr back then, a zillion years later finally posting on AO3.Summary: Emma Swan & Killian Jones have been best friends for over 15 years when she gets pregnant by her boyfriend Neal. When Neal dumps her and dies soon after, Killian steps in to help her raise Henry. Emma’s realization that she’s been in love with Killian all along forces her to admit that maybe she doesn’t want to be just friends anymore.The title comes from the Deborah Cox song.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 128





	We Can't Be Friends

When Emma Swan finally realized that she was in love with her best friend, it was a Tuesday night and all he had done was hand her a beer.

They were curled up on her sofa after putting Henry to bed. Netflix’s logo blinked nonchalantly on the extra-large TV Killian had convinced her to buy because it was on sale.

His gorgeous blue eyes were twinkling with mirth when the realization suddenly overwhelmed her – an epiphany so spectacular she could do nothing more than simply stare at him – and the extended beer – utterly dumbfounded.

His smirk widened at her expression and he waved the bottle in her face. “Everything okay, love?”

_Love._

(She’d secretly always liked when he called her that.)

She smiled shyly at him as she took the beer and forced herself to ignore the completely new and unprecedented way her pulse raced at his touch.

_(It_ was _new and unprecedented, wasn’t it?)_

She was actually pretty sure it happened all of the time but she was only just now acknowledging it to herself. A childhood growing up in foster care had made her the Queen of Denial, an expert in the art of disassociation.

  
For whatever reason, tonight had been the night where that denial finally failed her.

Now, as Killian casually wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began to comb fingers through her hair, Emma was suddenly hyper aware of his presence – his signature spicy scent; the heat emanating from his body (he’d always been his own personal furnace); the little humming noise he subconsciously made whenever he was lost in his thoughts, such as now while he browsed the Netflix queue – and she wondered what the turning point had been.

It was as if, after a lifetime of friendship, she’d simply blinked, and now Killian Jones was all she could see.

What had changed?

He did have strikingly dark good looks. His freakishly bright blue eyes, silky black hair, and signature slightly-red beard gave him a rugged, masculine energy she’d always secretly found _really_ fucking sexy. (Seriously, it should be illegal to look that good with facial hair). He’d _always_ been attractive but she had never before considered herself attracted _to_ him.

( _Had she??)_

She was long fond of his extremely pretentious vocabulary (straight out of a Jane Austen novel) and had teased him endlessly about it ever since they were kids. He never failed to make her laugh when things must always be done “post haste” because he would never “bloody” argue with her about “absolute rubbish.”

She never really understood what he said half the time, but she loved his fancy way of speaking all the same because it was pure _Killian_.

She also totally dug his obsession with black leather and eyeliner (the only straight man on the planet who could pull it off, she was sure), not to mention his fondness for Peter Pan, which extended right down to his beloved sailboat The Jolly Roger. 

Physical looks and personality quirks aside, her favorite quality of Killian’s was his integrity – his strident lifelong belief in “good form” because he’d idolized his older brother Liam, a British naval recruit, and all of the rigid discipline and high standards that entailed.

The fact that he’d been by her side nearly every day for over fifteen years now probably had a lot to do with her newfound feelings too. They’d been orphaned kids growing up (too fast) in the same foster home who’d had a connection right away – the sullen, sad boy drawn to the tough, feisty blond. She’d been in quite a few homes by then and always sent away, eventually she’d learned not to get close to anyone because it would never last. Killian had been the first person to break through those walls. They’d only ever truly relied on one another, especially once Liam, who’d been 8 years older and living overseas, died tragically in a training exercise gone wrong. Emma had been Killian’s rock in those dark days after Liam passed, and years later, Killian had been instrumental in getting her through her break-up with her boyfriend Neal and his subsequent tragic death when she’d been newly pregnant with their son, Henry.

But through everything, Killian had always been her best friend and foster brother and despite their connection, their history, his obvious perfection and undeniable beauty; she’d never really looked at him _that_ way, never saw him as anything more than family . . . until suddenly now she did.

Emma figured a combination of that long history; his magnetic personality and the intense loneliness that had plagued her all her life had finally forced her over the edge from denial into acceptance.

After several moments of scanning New Releases, Killian settled on an episode of one of the crime documentary series they loved, sighing with contentment as he flipped the remote onto her coffee table and relaxed back into the sofa, still absentmindedly stroking her hair. His free hand curled around his beer and she stared at the way his nails – clipped clean and short because he was always impeccably groomed – lazily tore the long-necked bottle’s label. She had a sudden vision of him setting the bottle aside to pull her mouth to his and instantly blinked the vision away, gnawing at her lower lip as she continued to obsess.

The problem as she saw it was that if she _was_ in love with her best friend (and she was now 99.9% certain she was), she was just as fairly certain that he did _not_ feel the same way.

Admittedly, most of her reasoning was weak – he usually dated brunettes (without kids) such as Milah, his current on-again, off-again _whatever_ who happened to be one of the most beautiful women Emma had ever seen. Milah’s existence in Killian’s life assured Emma that she herself could not possibly be his type.

And in all of the years they’d been best friends, she figured the platonic feelings were mutual and he felt much the same about her – attract _ive_ but not attrac _ted_ , family and friend, nothing more. He’d never once made a move, asked her out, kissed her or even _tried_ to kiss her. He never seemed jealous of the (few) guys she’d dated. In particular, he had certainly never seemed that perturbed by Neal. Emma knew that Killian had never liked Neal but he had done his best to be cordial to him anyway, because he was a good friend and he just wanted her to be happy.

Not only did Killian not seem to care about the men she dated; he’d never hid the women _he_ dated, and was always open with her about them – whether to laugh, whine or ask advice. So Emma felt pretty certain that she knew what Killian was like when he was attracted to a woman and he’d never, ever treated her _that_ way.

( _Right??_ )

  
The _biggest_ problem, though, was that even if she _was_ his type, even if he _did_ love her too – they could _never_ take that step – because Killian wasn’t just her oldest, dearest friend (her _family)_ ; most importantly, he was Henry’s father too.

Neal had dumped her after she told him she was pregnant and she’d shown up on Killian’s doorstep in tears, the inherent need established in childhood to be comforted by him during any trauma – real or imagined – willing her over to his apartment. On the walk there she’d decided to get an abortion. She was no longer with the father, who didn’t want to be involved anyway, _and_ she could barely support herself, having _just_ started a new job at one of Boston’s biggest bail bonds offices (and it didn’t pay much); not to mention that she’d grown up in foster care – what did she know about being a mother?

But she spent that entire night crying in Killian’s arms while he whispered soothing words of support in her ear, praising her for her strength and promising her that she’d be “a fantastic mum.” She’d made the decision to get an abortion out of fear of being a single mother, but Killian assured her that would never be the case. He swore to her if she decided to keep the baby, she wouldn’t be alone – he would be every bit the father figure that her child needed.

In the end, she decided Killian was right. The idea of being a mother terrified her but not as much as terminating the pregnancy and the connection to the one person in her life who, in her mind, literally depended on her so much they could never leave her. And even though Neal had callously dumped her as if she and their child were nothing, she had been a self-loathing masochist with terrible taste in men who still actually loved the bastard and couldn’t help but swoon at the idea of having his child. With Killian by her side to help her, she figured that, together, they couldn’t possibly be as terrible as the foster parents they’d been stuck with for the last eight years of their adolescence.

And when Neal had died just a few weeks later, Killian was the life line preventing her from completely falling apart, reassuring her that her baby’s father was still very much alive.

Soon after, he moved into her building in Southie, just one floor down, so they could co-parent from under the same roof, if not from the same apartment. She’d been nervous about that, about all of it, really – what about when Killian met someone else; how would she feel about this whole weird situation – but he’d been adamant. ( _“If she can’t understand why I’d want to support my oldest friend and her child, she’s not worthy of my time, love.”_ )

Killian had gone with her to every doctor’s appointment and probably read more pregnancy and parenting books than _she_ had in those hectic months. When she’d found out the baby was a boy, she told him that she wanted to name him Henry. A nerdy old-fashioned Englishman at heart, Killian proudly observed that the name was classically British (“Love that moniker, Swan”), which, secretly, was one of the many reasons why she had picked it.

When she went into labor, Killian was in the delivery room with her while the rest of their friends – their _family_ – held court in the waiting room.

_He_ was the one her doctor handed a squealing newborn Henry to.

In fact, he’d held Henry even before she had and she’d never forgotten the tears in his eyes as he placed her son in her arms. He’d been there for those first midnight feedings when she was still getting the hang of it; not even flinching at her milk-swollen breasts and cracked, sore nipples (the memory of which, in light of her newly discovered feelings, now made her flush with embarrassment); and happily taking on diaper duty, all as if Henry was his own biological son.

He’d rocked the baby gently from side to side while whispering to him all of the things they’d do together – go to Red Sox games; gossip about girls and sex; bond over video games and all of the other things fathers did with their sons. (“I’ll even teach you how to shave,” he whispered softly to the sleepy boy, earning a laugh from Emma as she gazed over his perpetually scruffy face and said, “as if you even know _how_.”)

Emma couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – risk ruining their perfect little _platonic_ family unit just because she’d finally realized that Killian’s very existence made her heart quicken.

(Just one look at his ridiculously soft, pink lips or one whiff of his fragrantly spicy musk weakened her knees.)

And in moments such as this one, with Henry asleep down the hall and Killian nestled beside her stroking her hair, she had never felt safer, more complete or more at home.

Now she smiled at him, praying that the look on her face didn’t give her away, and, catching his attention from the screen, clinked her bottle with his.

_(Be cool_ , _Emma_.)

  
“To friendship,” she said gruffly, cursing herself for the rough edge to her voice. Something flickered across Killian’s face, his smile dropping slightly (unless she was imagining it) before stretching back into the dazzling grin that did weird things to her gut.

“Aye, Swan, to friendship.”

He took a swig from his beer before setting it on the coffee table and promptly tightened the arm around her shoulders to pull her flush against him. She stiffened at first but when he cut a confused glance at her, she smiled and relaxed into his embrace, reminding herself that _they did this all the time_ – cuddling when they watched TV together. It was – or it had been – totally harmless; they’d just always been affectionate with one another that way, the irony of which wasn’t lost on their friends because they were decidedly _not_ affectionate with anyone else.

So what if she was now currently dipping her nose into the rough fabric of his favorite henley to inhale his scent? Did it matter that her fingers wrapped around the chain dangling from his neck were literally _itching_ to dip into the forest of chest hair he always insisted on showing off? Should she care that she wished the kiss he pressed to her forehead had instead been directed several inches south of that, on her lips?

She felt at home in his embrace, completely and utterly at peace, and she wanted to weep from the knowledge of it, from relief and terror.

She was in love with her best friend and had no idea what she was going to do about it.

(Meanwhile, she called every interaction they’d ever had into question.)

_-_

_(A few months earlier, she’d come home and found him making dinner, a rather common occurrence they typically traded off depending upon who got home first._

_(Usually Killian because being the general manager of one of Boston’s largest shipping companies had its perks, namely the ability to make his own hours, which Emma was truly grateful for. One or the both of them could be with Henry and she didn’t have to rely on babysitters like Granny as much as most single mothers would)._

_She could hear a loud racket all the way from the hall as she unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment, following the noise to the kitchen._

_Henry bounced delightedly in his high chair banging two wooden spoons together with the kind of enthusiastic zeal only a baby could have while Killian puttered at the stove, hair unrulier than usual (clearly due to roving fingers) as he tapped his foot and sang along to the terrible beat of Henry's spoons._

_Her heart had tightened in her chest as she watched her boys being silly together and she couldn’t resist pulling out her phone to record the madness, the shakiness of the video evidence of her barely contained laughter. The look on Killian's face when he caught her filming them made her howl with glee and when he launched himself at her, she squealed like a flirty schoolgirl as he chased her into the living room wielding a spoon dripping with bright red tomato sauce._

_He caught up with her rather easily (she didn’t put up much of a fight), his arms looping around her waist to pull her against him, red sauce dripping into her hair, her heart pounding against her ribcage as her eyes met and locked on his._

_“I’m afraid I’m going to have to pilfer that footage from you, love.”  
  
She rolled her eyes at his fancy description of “erase.” “Yeah, or what?”_

_Her heart was pounding so wildly she thought it might burst from her chest._

_“You’ll use it as leverage to do as you will whenever you want.”_

_“Of course, wouldn’t you?”_

_She made the mistake of looking up from the icon of the video in question on her camera roll, directly into his face._

_Their eyes met._

_They both froze._

_Time stopped._

_Panting breathlessly, they gaped at one another in shock, as if finally taking stock of their body language, and just like that, the spell was broken. His arms fell from her waist and he took a step back, running the hand not wielding the spoon through his hair as he gazed down at the floor almost shyly. (Definitely shyly)._

_Emma forced herself to smile, despite the red sauce dripping down her face, and in an effort to play it off like nothing had happened, pressed a casual, flippant kiss to his cheek. She ignored the way it lingered and tingled from her lips through the rest of her extremities for much longer than necessary for a kiss between friends._

_She had re-watched that video more times than she could count – and now she could finally admit why.)_

_-_

In the weeks that passed since that fateful Tuesday evening, Emma’s realization ate away at her, festering like a fermented, rotting wound. She ignored her feelings the best she could and was occasionally successful; but there were always nagging reminders that picked at the wound like a scab – such as that random night at Granny’s when Milah slipped in to join all of their friends after dinner.

She felt hot and itchy with betrayal (that Killian hadn’t told her Milah was coming) and shame (for feeling betrayed that Killian hadn’t told her Milah was coming) and immediately began plotting her escape.

She could barely stand to watch Milah laughing at Killian’s jokes, Milah running her hand down Killian’s arm, Milah leaning in to Killian as they stood at the bar and talked to Ruby and Victor, the jealousy choking her from just the sight. She hated that she’d gone from zero – being perfectly content being just friends and co-parents with Killian – to sixty – being so consumed with agony at the thought of him even _thinking_ of this woman romantically or sexually, let alone actually _being_ with her – and she was completely unprepared for how to act without totally giving herself away.

He came over to say goodnight, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, and she was torn between the urge to cling to him and beg him to stay, and the urge to shove him away. When he told her he’d be by tomorrow to pick up Henry, she clung to that with more hope and excitement than she had any business doing.

She blinked back tears as she watched him leave with Milah, hating herself and him and everyone and everything everywhere in the history of the world. She said a quick goodbye to the gang and went in the back to get Henry and bring him home.

As she carried her sleeping son up the stairs past Killian’s floor on the way to her apartment, she tried not to wonder if he was busy having sex with Milah in his.

Once she was in bed, alone with her thoughts, she finally allowed herself to cry.

-

“I’m in love with Killian,” she blurted to the girls the next afternoon at brunch.

“Called it!” Ruby shouted triumphantly as she and Elsa high fived.

Regina rolled her eyes while Mary Margaret, as earnest as ever, whooped and grinned hopefully. “Oh _Emma_ , thank God! It’s about time you admitted it!”

  
She stared at her friends in shock as their waiter, clearly sensing the need for reinforcement in the form of champagne, came around to refill their mimosas. “Wait, what? You knew? How could you possibly know when _I_ didn’t even know until a couple weeks ago?”

The combined sounds of their ribald laughter sounded like a chorus of hens hawking in a henhouse. “Oh honey, we’ve known for _years_ ,” Regina said in her typically dry, disinterested tone, waving a hand dismissively as she picked at her salad.

Ruby nodded smugly. “Oh yeah, I figured it out when you were pregnant with Henry.” She gestured to Elsa. “Els, here, when was it for you? You mentioned it the other day.”

_(The other day???)_ Emma’s eyes darted wildly from Ruby to Elsa as she waited with baited breath for the blonde’s response.

“Oh, _way_ before that; I knew when she was still with Neal.”

“Well David and I have known them since college and we both figured it out the day we met,” Mary Margaret supplied rather smugly.

Emma gasped, her friends now all talking over one another about how long they’d apparently known that she had been madly in love with Killian while she sat completely dumbfounded and absolutely certain that her head would explode.

Not only had the girls just generally known she was in love with Killian – they’d known for _years_ what she’d only known for _weeks_. And they just let her go happily along pretending she just wanted them to be friends.

The magnitude of this revelation was not something she could entertain at the moment, in public, drinking alcohol – it was something she’d have to marinate on alone, where she could cry and scream and pull out her hair in peace.

She cleared her throat loudly and clinked on her glass with her fork, thankfully garnering everyone’s immediate attention. “Calm down! Nothing’s changed, guys, okay? Nothing – _nothing_ is ever going to happen between us.”

  
She ignored the sharp pain and panic she felt just speaking those words aloud.

  
“Girl, are you crazy!?” Ruby was looking at her as if she was, in fact, insane.

  
“Emma, surely you realize he’s in love with you, too,” Mary Margaret interjected much more diplomatically, pointedly frowning at Ruby for her typical lack of tact.

“You can’t _possibly_ have missed all of his yearning looks and doey eyes!” Regina was incredulous.

“He doesn’t give me doey eyes…” She trailed off as she realized how unconvincing the statement sounded leaving her lips because visions of Killian’s big blue eyes gazing at her with … _something_ powerful and significant in their depths overwhelmed her. She in fact had spent the last few weeks thinking of all of the moments she was certain he’d given her those longing looks and doey eyes. The abandoned orphan inside of her that never felt good enough for anything insisted she was only imagining them, but to get confirmation from their friends – well.

_(Wow_.)

( _Maybe…. Maybe._ )

“Emma, he hasn’t dated anyone in years,” Elsa supplied.

_Well that’s a lie_ , Emma thought as a flashback of that night at Granny’s replayed in her mind and she desperately tried to push down the anxiety tightening her gut as she turned to gape at Elsa. “He’s with Milah! He literally went home with her _last night_!”

If she didn’t think about that sharp stinging pain in the middle of her chest at the reminder of him leaving with Milah, she’d be okay, she wouldn’t cry.

“Oh stop it,” Regina snapped in a tone much harsher than Emma’s fragile emotional state appreciated at the moment. “You know damn well that sleeping with someone every once in a while to scratch an itch does _not_ a relationship make. Anyone with eyes and common sense who isn’t in total denial can see that Killian has _always_ been in love with _you_.”

She gawked at Regina, sputtering and flailing internally for a response as the words set in. She looked from those defiant brown eyes to Mary Margaret, whose expression was filled with her typical earnest concern; Ruby, who wore her signature smirk (which somehow wasn’t at all comforting in this moment); and Elsa, a wry, all-knowing smile that managed to both console _and_ intimidate. The magnitude of what they were saying was finally seeping in and despite her better judgment and time-honored tradition of denying herself even the slightest bit of happiness, Emma could not resist the hope that coiled in her belly.

She mentally dissected her relationship with Killian once again, this time making a conscious decision to _objectively_ consider their last several interactions – his words; his body language; the look in his eyes every time she caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention – and tried to see them through the lens of a man who maybe loved her after all.

When she thought about it realistically –

Even though Milah was still in the picture, Elsa was right, he hadn’t really _dated_ anyone in years – not since that girl Tink (God what a stupid name) from college who was always a little weird and quirky, but her name alone perfectly encapsulated Killian’s lifelong obsession with Peter Pan. And, well, if Emma was being honest with herself (a new concept she was still trying out), she had never ever liked her. She didn’t like Milah either, although before now she had never really understood why because the woman was harmless and nice enough and Killian was mostly indifferent to her. She certainly didn’t fear that he was in _love_ with the woman – he kept her at arm’s length at best, despite what he had confided in her as Milah’s repeated attempts to take the relationship “to the next level.” 

_“Is the sex that good?” She’d asked one night as they sat on his couch browsing Netflix and sharing Chinese food straight from the containers. Henry was asleep down the hall in the crib Killian kept for him at his place. “Is that why you keep her around?”_

_She recalled being surprised (where did that come from?) and annoyed (why would you even ask him that?), but was even more floored by his response._

_He shrugged. “She’s fantastic in bed.”_

_He sounded so… bored, which alleviated some of the jealousy Emma couldn’t help but feel. She snorted in amusement. “So convincing.”_

_“She’s great in bed. That’s it. There’s nothing there. No connection. No spark.” He looked over at her then, and when their eyes locked, her mouth went dry._

Connection.

Spark.

They had that in spades.

And so she’d instantly understood. Killian was a guy; guys had needs; and it was easy to separate sex from love. She still hated the thought of them together, but she held on to the hope of knowing Killian didn’t see Milah _that way_ – the way, maybe, he saw her.

But still.

She was used to not being enough and she was certain she couldn’t be enough for Killian.

  
Pulling herself back to the moment and issue at hand, Emma waved a hand dismissively.

“No. We’re better off as friends. If it didn’t work out and I lost him completely, I’d never recover – and Henry! Oh God, he practically calls Killian ‘dad’.”

At 14 months, Henry had amassed a small vocabulary consisting of “Mama,” “baba” (for bottle) and, her personal favorite, “hi.” He hadn’t said “dada” yet but without a doubt Killian filled that role in Henry’s life and if and when the boy finally said the word, Killian would be the man he was referring to.

In fact, Killian was with Henry right now, as he was every time she had brunch with the girls. It had been his gift to her, soon after Henry’s birth – a standing “appointment” every week for her to be off Mommy Duty, get out of the house, and have a little fun. Sometimes Killian would stay with Henry at her place, other times he’d bring the boy down to his apartment – or, on days like today, he’d bring Henry with him to hang with the guys, who were all at the park shooting hoops or fishing or whatever it was men did when they hung out together. All she knew was that Henry had been clad in his bright red baby Chuck T’s (the high-tops), matching Killian’s, and the sight of them together as they left that morning turned her insides to mush.

“Emma, Killian is so hopelessly in love with the two of you he’s never going anywhere.”

Emma knew that he’d be there for her and her son forever because more than friends, they were _family_. They’d been everything to one another since they were children; he had never and would never betray her trust or break her heart.

But that was friendship, not romance.

Lately, she’d been constantly warring with herself “he loves you too,” “no he doesn’t, how could he?” because she hadn’t dated anyone since Neal, who had said some pretty awful things to and about her when he’d dumped her; and it hadn’t done much for her already fragile self-esteem. Even if Killian did love her _that way_ , he deserved a woman who wasn’t so broken, a woman who wasn’t so scared to love him back.

No, Killian wasn’t the problem – she was.

  
And her friends knew her well enough to sense that, because Mary Margaret sighed. “Oh, _Emma_.” There was something about her pity that nearly brought Emma to tears, right there in the middle of her favorite non-Granny’s restaurant, so she grabbed her glass and closed her eyes tight to fight them back.

“I’m not good at relationships. Even if what you guys say is true, I can’t trust myself not to get scared and push him away and ruin it all. I can’t do that to him – or us.”

She opened her eyes when she was certain she wouldn’t cry and gulped the rest of the mimosa in her glass, signaling to their waiter that she’d like another.

“Well I think you’re stupid,” Regina said after several protracted moments of silence where the girls all exchanged looks but clearly refrained from speaking their minds any further.

Emma chuckled, shaking her head. “Can always count on you to be blunt, Regina.”

  
The dark-haired woman shrugged. “As they say, honesty’s the best policy.”

Ignoring Regina, Elsa leaned across the table to put her hand over Emma’s. “He adores you.”

“And he will never, ever make a move if he doesn’t think you feel the same way,” Ruby added. “Which he won’t, because he doesn’t. On both counts.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her, filling her with dread. “Has he said something to you guys about me?” The thought of _everyone_ knowing that she and Killian were in love with one another _but_ she and Killian was beyond embarrassing.

  
“He doesn’t have to,” Ruby said. “We have eyes.”

Mary Margaret stared at her with a combination of concern and pity. “Talk to Killian, Emma. Tell him how you feel.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s _Killian_! He’s the only one you ever really talk to about anything anyway; it’ll be so much easier than you think.”

Her phone buzzed, and Emma glanced down to see an incoming text from Killian, as if he knew he’d been the topic of conversation. Ignoring the routine excitement she felt at reading a new message from him, she swiped the screen to peer at the note and her eyes instantly filled with the tears she’d been trying to hold back all morning.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“ _What_?” the girls all asked at once and Emma felt their eyes on her as she stared down at her phone and the image of her two boys that filled the screen – a close-up of their heads pressed together with matching oversized grins and identical expressions of complete joy; Henry’s row of baby teeth blinking from gleaming pink gums like bright spots of sunlight while Killian’s perfect Colgate smile made her stomach clench with longing.

_Mine_ , she thought.

Immediately saving the image to her camera roll – she knew it was only a matter of minutes before she’d set the photo as her new wallpaper – she held up the phone to show her friends and welcomed their collective swooning response as acknowledgement of what she’d felt finally settle in her heart.

_Mine_.

She loved him and she wanted him as more than a friend – but she wasn’t sure that she could get out of her own way.

-

“Hey Swan, how do you like this shirt?”

He turned 360 degrees as he stared at himself in the full-length mirror outside of his dressing room, broad shoulders and shapely biceps bulging out of the short-sleeved blue plaid button-down, the color of which perfectly complemented his ocean blue eyes.

One look at him and she wanted to faint he looked so fucking sexy. But instead, she donned her best disinterested expression and shrugged. “Its okay.”

He frowned at her, then at himself in the mirror, before returning to the stall to try on something else.

He had dragged her and Henry to H&M under the guise of shopping for new shirts because he claimed he was bored with his current wardrobe. (Seriously, she’d never known another straight male who liked to shop and try on clothes more than Killian Jones.)

She couldn’t resist the excitement she felt tagging along. She looked forward to the time they spent together with the glee and anticipation of a teenage girl on prom night. As Killian marched out in shirt after shirt to get her approval, Henry sat patiently in his stroller, so calm and serene, her little man; he rarely created a scene in public and was content just babbling to himself as he inspected the stuffed baby crocodile Killian had won for him at a carnival last fall.

Lately, it was his favorite toy, one he’d insisted on bringing with him everywhere.

As Killian was paying for his four new shirts, including the blue plaid that looked so good on him it made her knees weak, he turned to make funny faces at Henry, who laughed and giggled with delight.

The pretty, dark-haired cashier with the horned nose ring and giant hipster glasses leaned her heavily tattooed forearms against the counter to smile down at Henry. “Aww, you three are the _cutest_ family.”

Emma’s jaw dropped, wide eyes darting from Killian to the cashier and back in stunned silence, nearly undone by the intense longing that filled her.

“Uh-” she said at the same time Killian stuttered, “Well, we’re -”

In the end, Henry spoke for them – and much more eloquently.

“Dada!” he shouted so suddenly both of his parents jumped and turned to stare down at him with matching expressions of total disbelief. Henry held out his crocodile and gesturing directly at Killian, little face scrunched up in total determination. “Dada!” he said again. “Dada!”

Emma didn’t think she’d ever be able to set foot in an H&M again without crying. She looked away to regain her composure because weeping in public would surely ruin the moment.

Fortunately, Killian recovered quicker than she, thanking the cashier as he crouched down to Henry’s level to take the crocodile and boop the baby on the nose with it.

Her son – their _son, oh God_ – giggled that deep, rosy giggle reserved only for Killian and reached his arms out wide, imploring. “Dada, _up_!”

They exchanged a glance, gazes locked and, just like that – time stood still. No one existed beyond Killian and the cocktail of emotions swimming in his gorgeous blue eyes. 

The sentiment swirling in his gaze – she knew him better than anyone ever had and knew he was as close to tears as she was – made her ache so acutely she thought she would die if she didn’t hold him. It took all the strength she had to keep her arms at her sides and simply smile at him in return.

They weren’t emotionally prepared for this, which was foolish because it was inevitable. Killian was Henry’s father. Neither of them had tried to deny that fact or avoid referring to him as such in Henry’s presence – but still. This moment had made it all so … _real_.

They’d never explicitly talked about whether Henry would call him Killian or Dad – but it was bound to happen, as no other man filled that void in Henry’s life, not even his many male “uncles” in David, Robin, Victor and Will. She was the first – and still the only – person in their circle of friends to have a child and Killian had always been the father. She saw the uncertainty in his gaze, the silent rise of his brow asking her permission – _is this okay?_

The fact that he was unsure absolutely floored her.

_Of course_ it was okay! No other man existed who she’d rather be the father to her son than Killian – not even the man who actually _was_ his father. (May he rest in peace).

She nodded at him and when his shoulders slumped in relief, she finally stopped resisting the tears welling in her eyes.

She had no idea how much time passed as they stared at one another in the middle of H&M like a couple of lovesick fools but she did know that this was yet another moment she would dissect and overanalyze in private ( _just what does that look in his eye really_ mean?). Henry grew increasingly impatient, repeating his mantra “Dada up! Dada up!” so much that people were starting to stare, and then Killian blinked and looked away; the spell immediately broken.

“Aye, my big lad,” he said, the gruff tone of his voice betraying just how significant this moment was for him as well. He unclicked Henry from his stroller with the flick of a wrist and hoisted him up into his arms and over his shoulders. “Daddy’s got ya.”

Emma smiled tremulously at the two of them, brushing away her tears as they walked slowly out of the store. She pushed the empty buggy while Henry babbled in Killian’s ear and waved his crocodile around in the kind of reckless abandonment only a toddler could.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Emma realized Killian had taken her hand and laced his fingers through hers.

She looked up and smiled at him and when he smiled back, she knew another shift in their relationship had taken place.

-

Their two closest friends were the catalyst that changed everything.  
  


“We’re engaged!” Mary Margaret announced blissfully one night over dinner, flashing a bright round diamond on her left ring finger.

“Oh my God!” Emma reached for her friend’s hand while Killian’s excited “Congrats, man!” was muffled by David’s enthusiastic bro hug.

“And we want you two to be our Maid of Honor and Best Man,” David announced proudly after all the congratulations had been exchanged.

“Of course,” Emma said, humbled at the prospect. Mary Margaret was the first true female friend she’d ever had – she was honored to be asked.

“And we’d love for you two to help plan the wedding for us?” Mary Margaret asked hopefully.

Emma’s eyes widened. She’d obviously never planned a wedding before – marriage had never even been something on her radar, not even with Neal – but she could deny Mary Margaret nothing.

“Sure…” she said, the uncertainty plain in her voice.

  
“When’s the date, lad?” Killian asked, seemingly unfazed by the task.

  
“April 30th.”

“What?!” Emma exclaimed. ( _How were they supposed to plan a wedding in thirty days??)_

“But that’s in a month!” Killian added unhelpfully, echoing her thoughts.

Their friends exchanged an amused, knowing glance. “We’re aware.”

Emma looked at Killian and was both pleased and unnerved to see that he was looking back.

  
_Well – what do you think?_ His raised brow inquired.

_I think we have no choice_ , she wordlessly replied with a simple shrug.

(They’d always been good at communicating without words.)

Killian stared at her for such a long beat she felt like coming out of her skin. “Well,” he said finally, clearing his throat as he turned to address their friends. “I guess we have a wedding to plan.”

“Great!” Mary Margaret clapped her hands together in excitement while David signaled to the waiter for a bottle of champagne. “We want the ceremony at the Public Garden-”

“On a month’s notice?” Emma asked incredulously. The Public Garden booked _years_ in advance.

“Well Robin works for the parks department love, perhaps he can pull a few strings,” Killian interjected, making an excellent point.

“I really hope so,” Mary Margaret murmured wistfully. “It’s where we went on our first date.”

“Well, the reception location should be pretty easy,” supplied David.

Emma and Killian smirked at one another and nodded in unison. “Granny’s.”

Moments such as this reminded her what a fantastic team they made – finishing each other’s sentences; reading one another’s thoughts, and even when they disagreed (which was often), they still always came to a mutually satisfactory resolution.

“The first decision is always the venue,” Emma said distractedly as she scanned through work emails on her phone the next night. “That dictates everything else – the dress, the food, the guest list…”

  
“Aye, that makes sense,” Killian said just as absent-mindedly while he sat on the couch beside her. “Good thing the Garden had that last minute cancellation – Robin said there would have been no other way he’d been able to get them in on such short notice.”

“And Granny said we could come by tomorrow to talk the reception.”

He snorted in amusement. “So David and MM can serve an elegant menu of grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings.”

Emma grinned at him. “Well, that _is_ what Granny’s famous for.”

“Right.” Sighing dramatically, Killian stretched out his legs on her coffee table, ignoring the disapproving side eye she sent his way. “As for the guest list-”

“Well all of us, naturally.” His shoulder brushed hers as he turned his head slightly to meet her gaze. Her heart raced. His eyes were darker than usual tonight, a kind of deep navy that reminded her of a starless night sky.

“They don’t want any other attendants besides us, but they do want a flower girl or ring bearer,” Emma murmured. “We _clearly_ have the perfect ring bearer in-”

“Henry,” they said again in unison.

They stared at one another in surprise for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Get out of my head, Swan,” he chuckled, reaching for the remote.

  
“Oh come on that one was pretty obvious.”

And as they debated table settings and floral arrangements, scouting tailors and bridal shops, finalizing menus and liquor selections, Emma couldn’t help but imagine what her and Killian’s wedding might look like too.

Planning the union of two individuals who had been put on earth to love one another – for there was no doubt that David and Mary Margaret were soulmates – made Emma ache, to the very marrow of her bones, for the courage to throw caution to the wind and _finally_ just tell Killian how she felt.

Even the small possibility, planted by their friends, that he loved her too wasn’t enough to combat her fear.

She very much wanted to be bold enough to believe what her friends said, believe the feeling in her gut, believe the reverence for her she thought that she saw in his eyes.

She was so terrified that if they became lovers, their friendship would be ruined, somehow she’d mess it up, and he’d leave her, as everyone always had.

She wanted to believe and know and _trust_ that she _deserved_ to be loved by a man as wonderful as Killian.

She wanted to believe that he’d never leave or grow tired of her.

She ached for him in the farthest recesses of her soul; ached for him to love her and hold her and need her as desperately as she did him.

She wanted to kiss him and make love to him and _finally_ know _intimately_ what that lean muscular frame felt like naked and sweaty in her arms.

She longed to hear him call her “Swan” and “love” at all hours of the day and to curl up with him in bed at night.

She wanted to have more children with him because she yearned to know what _their_ babies would look like – if they’d be dark haired and green eyed or blonde and blue or some version in between.

  
She ached, she wanted, she hoped, she dreamed.

For Killian.

Only Killian.

_Always_ Killian.

When The Big Day arrived, he came by around noon to pick her and Henry up, offering his standard double knock before he unlocked the door with his key and slipped inside. She was in the bathroom curling her hair when he called her name; Henry sitting on her bedroom floor in his little tux playing with that trusty stuffed crocodile. 

Emma gave herself one long last look in the mirror. She smoothed her hands over the fitted bodice of her soft champagne-colored chiffon dress, turning to admire the way the flare of the skirt enhanced her shape, appreciating the way the bright blonde of her hair curled softly over one shoulder. She looked good and she felt even better.

Taking a long, deep breath, she walked out to greet Killian.

The second she entered the hallway, their eyes met.

Time stopped, as usual, and they just stared at one another.

He looked good enough to eat in his gray suit and tie; his hair was freshly gelled and beard freshly trimmed. His eyes traveled over her frame, settling on her hair, and she was certain that his cheeks flushed.

Her heart soared.

(He’d once let it slip how much he loved her hair down and curly and that might have been one of – or the only – reason why she’d chosen to wear it that way today.)

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, voice thick, pupils blown black with… Emma didn’t want to get her hopes up but he looked at her like she was a present he wanted to luxuriate in unwrapping. She knew because she was certain that was exactly how she was looking at him.

  
“You too,” she shot back, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, letting it linger for just an extra second as she laced her fingers through his. She turned reluctantly back to Henry, the ring bearer, who had followed her out of her bedroom and leaned against the doorway in his grey suit matching Killian’s, rather adorably watching his two parents in rapt fascination.

“Doesn’t mummy look breathtaking, my young lad?” Killian said, successfully breaking the awkward silence as he picked the toddler up and tucked him against his hip.

Henry nodded in aggressive supplication, his hazel eyes twinkling as he smiled at her. “Pre’y Mama.”

Swooning, she blew him kiss while blinking back tears. “Thank you, baby.” She held up her phone and gestured for them to pose.

“Let me get a pic of my two handsome boys.”

Clearly her choice of possessive pronoun didn’t escape Killian, as something flickered across his face, an emotion so deep and sensual she felt her entire body flush, and hoped she’d captured it in the photo because she would never get tired of that look, especially when directed at her. Then _he_ was demanding a photo of her with Henry before they both finally decided on a “family portrait” and Emma would be lying if she said she didn’t notice that in all 3 selfies Killian was looking down at her with Henry in her arms as if they were his whole world.

Emma had literally crawled through mountains of hoarded junk in Granny’s basement to find the white tablecloths the old woman only used once a decade, schlepping them to get dry cleaned so they were good as new. The hard work had paid off because the diner had never looked more elegant – white twinkle lights hung from the ceiling and MM’s favorite nursery had nearly been bought out to fill the place with her favorite plants and flowers, lending the setting a rich, rustic feel like the backwoods in Maine where Mary Margaret had grown up.

Killian’s friend Jefferson DJed, spinning the greatest hits of the 80s and 90s, and everyone danced until the booze ran out and their feet hurt; Granny thankfully whisking Henry off to his go-to sleeping spot in her back office so Mommy and Daddy could be a little irresponsible.

Not much later, Killian pulled her into a slow dance, tucking her so close to him she couldn’t resist closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest, luxuriating in how perfectly she fit in his arms.

“We throw a hell of a wedding, Swan,” he murmured smugly into her ear, and she grinned, sighing happily. His arms tightened around her waist and she snuggled into him even further.

“We do,” she murmured, finally tilting her head back to stare up at him.

When their eyes locked, that familiar feeling of time standing still overwhelmed her once again, and his arms fastened tightly around her hips, rather possessively, until her pelvis was flush against his. She gasped at the unmistakable _feel_ of him and they stared at one another wordlessly, moving imperceptibly from side to side, completely off the rhythm of the music now, neither making a move, neither daring to speak for fear of ruining the moment.

But Emma felt _something_ in that moment _shift_ – something monumental.

She began to hope.

“You look breathtaking tonight, love,” he murmured, his eyes on her lips.

She smiled, feeling just a little bit drunk but a lot a bit happy, and linked her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts into his chest, loving the way he continued to hold her like she belonged with him, _to_ him. “Likewise. You’re wearing the hell out of that suit, Jones.”

He laughed and if she didn’t know any better she’d think he blushed too.

No, he was _definitely_ blushing.

Emma giggled, unable to resist nuzzling her nose with his as she beamed up at him, spurred on by intoxication-fueled happiness. “You’re blushing!’

  
“Shut up!” he said, returning her nose nuzzle in kind. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma could see Ruby dancing with Victor but eyeing the two of them pointedly, arched eyebrows so pronounced in surprise Emma could make them out even in her peripheral.

Instead of feeling chastised or embarrassed, Emma felt emboldened.

_(Definitely the alcohol.)_

“We make a great team,” she said, because it was the truth and she was feeling particularly brave in that moment, with Killian’s fingers strumming a rhythm against her lower back, the pupils of his big blue eyes blown wide as he gazed down at her so reverently she felt unstoppable. 

“Aye, that we do,” Killian nodded in agreement. “We always have.”

Something about his expression and the tone of his voice told her the conversation had shifted.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispered, her heart skipping a beat of hope when she saw the same emotion reflected in his gaze.

“The feeling is mutual, Swan.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Aye.” He nodded solemnly, his fingers reflexively tightening on her waist as hers continued to stroke the nape of his neck.

“You’re Henry’s father.”

He smiled softly and she nearly swooned. “It means the world to me that you trust me with your son.”

“ _Our_ son.”

There went that flicker of emotion across his features again, and Emma briefly realized he had spun them off the makeshift dance floor into a corner of the diner away from their friends.

“You both needed me and it’s been an honor for me to be there for you.”

She smiled, sliding a hand from his neck down to stroke his face. “We make a great team,” she said again, her voice cracking, a tear spilling down her cheek as the magnitude of this moment overwhelmed her. “It scares me how much.”

Killian frowned, brow furrowing with concern as a hand cupped her cheek, his thumb flicking her tears away. “Why would you be scared, Swan?”

She laughed, rolling her eyes at the utter obtuseness of his question. “Come on, Killian. You know me better than anyone ever has.”  
  
“Aye,” he nodded proudly as his thumb slid down from her cheek to stroke the dimple in her chin she’d always been so self-conscious about. “But I still don’t understand why the magnitude of our friendship would scare you.”

_Because I don’t want to_ be _just your_ friend _anymore_ , she wanted to say. _I want_ more _._

She wanted to kiss him too, so desperately the desire to pull his mouth down to hers almost overwhelmed her.

Their faces were close now, so they could hear one another over the loud music blaring from Granny’s less-than-modern sound system, and Emma’s hands now clutched his shoulders, digging into the soft fabric of his dress shirt; his suit jacket abandoned hours earlier.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Emma whispered, more tears trailing down her cheeks, and when he cupped her face in both hands to brush them away she thought she would die from loving him.

“You will _never_ lose me.”

“But you can’t…” she licked her lips, forcing herself to voice the one major fear she’d been obsessing about since she realized she was in love with him. “You can’t put your whole life on hold for us. Wh – what if – what if you meet someone?” His expression terrified her. “And she-”

“Stop.” Killian said, so forcefully Emma bit back the rest of her sentence, gazing up at him through watery eyes. His arms tightened around her yet again and she clung to the hope of what that display of affection might mean.

“Killian-”

“I don’t just know you, Emma, you know me,” he reminded her. “You _know_ me. More than anyone in my life, you know me. You know that I’m not dating anyone else because I don’t bloody _want_ anyone else. You know, if you’re being honest with yourself, which let’s both admit, love, is not your strong suit, you know that the only woman I want and have _ever_ wanted is _you_.”

The spell was instantly broken.

She gaped at him in shock. Her heart pounding wildly in her chest, she could scarcely breathe or believe her own ears.

Overwhelmed by contradictory emotions, Emma was astonished; excitement and terror warred within her as she stared agog into Killian’s eyes while praying that she hadn’t just imagined the entire exchange. He was staring back defiantly, daring her to run, but the tenderness and reverence for her in his gaze never wavered.

“Enough smoldering you two, MM wants to toss her bouquet!” Elsa clapped her hands to draw them both out of their love-induced haze, laughing as she pulled them by hand from the corner back to the center of the room where Mary Margaret waited with her blooming bouquet of hydrangeas. “You’ll have plenty of time to undress each other later, hopefully with more than just your eyes!”

As Killian got pulled away to the guys, the haunted, hopeful expression on his face directed solely at her didn’t falter and she quickly brushed the tears from her cheeks, set her shoulders and stared back, so completely floored by their conversation she still couldn’t quite believe it was real.

There was no going back now.

-

  
It was late when they got home. They hadn’t addressed what Killian had said since, so Emma had plenty of time to obsess over it.

She watched with her heart in her throat as Killian laid a sleeping Henry down in his crib, pressing a soft kiss to the boy’s forehead as he tucked him in and quietly shut the door.

The butterflies in her stomach grew as Killian walked down the hallway toward her and her heart pounded so wildly in her chest she could barely stand it, so certain she’d just blurt out the words “I want you, too” and be done with it, finally getting to the heart of the matter that they had rather skillfully (and literally) danced around earlier that night.

The look on his face stole her breath.

She could barely resist the urge to kiss him, right then and there – cup her hand around the back of his head, lace her fingers through his unruly black hair and pull his mouth to hers. Since she’d accepted that she was in love with him, she had dreamt of him more times than she could count, allowing herself the freedom to think of him not just romantically, but sexually as well.

“Seen Milah lately?”

Shocked by the words she hadn’t even realized she’d been thinking, Emma immediately cringed, turning away before she could see his expression, the pounding of her heart increasing tenfold as she cursed herself because she really, _really_ didn’t want the answer to that question. After everything that had transpired today, it was just like her to bring up the one thing that could set them back.

Old habits died hard.

Especially for Emma Swan.

“Uhhh…” the hesitation in his tone at once gave her a sinking feeling in her gut. “Actually, I’m supposed to see her tomorrow night.”

Her heart plummeted all the way to her feet.

Of course he was.

The sorrow and despair nearly choked her, but she didn’t know why she was so disappointed – well she did, but she had no right to be. Even though he’d just poured his heart out to her at Granny’s, _she’d_ never given him any reason to believe she felt the same way. So of course he was still hanging out with Milah. She felt the fear and jealousy choking her and wasn’t sure she could stop it. She immediately felt like weeping and throwing something and was so proud of herself for what she hoped was a neutral tone to her voice as she said as nonchalantly as possible, “Oh?”

He was standing in front of her now, leaning against the wall by the door, and she absurdly found herself focusing on how the hallway light reflected in his blue eyes. His hair was wild and wavy like he’d been running his fingers through it and he was looking at her like he always did, like he always _had_. After his words tonight, she _finally_ recognized it for what it meant – like she was the best thing he’d seen all year and he wanted to spend the rest of his life looking at her.

“We’re going bowling.”

  
Emma laughed (if she didn’t laugh she’d weep) and turned on her heel to search the living room for something to grab, something to hold in her hands, _anything_ to prevent her from throwing herself into his arms.

Killian chuckled, scratching the back of his ear in his telltale sign of nerves. “Silly, I know.” His smile was so dazzling she turned back around, spotted the remote and grabbed it, turning on the TV just for something to do.

She turned to glance back at Killian and immediately regretted it. He looked so sexy with his tie draped carelessly around his neck, the sleeves rolled loosely up to his elbows exposing his forearms ( _seriously, how was it possibly that even his wrists were sexy??_ ). She loved him so endlessly and completely she wanted nothing more than to curl around him and never let go.

But paralyzed by the knowledge of his impending date – and “fantastic” sex – with Milah, she completely forgot (or, ignored) the memory of his words and expression at Granny’s, telling herself once again that everything she’d felt since that random Tuesday night was a delusion.

  
If he wanted her so much, he wouldn’t be with Milah or anyone else.

“Sounds like fun. Tell her I say hi.” _Tell her to go fuck herself_ , _you’re_ mine, is what she really meant, but she could never say that.

Killian’s brow rose, almost in challenge, and he smiled at her weakly. “I don’t think you mean that, Swan.”

  
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?” _Yeah, this is good,_ Emma thought. Righteous anger was the best course of action for her in the moment; she was exhausted and heartbroken; her nerves frayed.

  
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.” That _definitely_ sounded like a challenge.

And just like that, she blew.

“You just told me, like, _three hours ago_ at Granny’s that you weren’t dating anyone else!”

  
“I’m not!”

Emma thought her head would explode. “Newsflash, jackass – bowling and sex constitutes dating.” Inwardly she cringed over how petty and insecure she sounded but she was so hurt she didn’t really care.

He smirked; crossing his arms over his chest with eyes so humorless she felt the panic clawing at her, her stomach painfully cramped with despair. “Oh, so _that’s_ what this is about. The fact that I have sex with her.”

She tried to ignore the dagger of pain she felt at him using the present tense because if she actively thought about Killian in bed with Milah – or anyone who wasn’t _her_ – she was certain that she’d end up in a puddle on the floor.

“No, of course it’s not about that! I don’t care who you have sex with!”

_Lying liar who lies_ , she immediately chastised, and Killian thought so too, because his eyes widened in shock and he actually _laughed_ at her as he said, “Bullshit.”

She gasped, grabbing onto that moment to turn it around and play the victim, channeling her heartache into anger because otherwise – No, she couldn’t even think about otherwise. “Are you calling me a liar?”

You _are calling you a liar, Emma_ , she thought with shame.

“Yeah, I am,” Killian said plainly as he took a step toward her. “Clearly, you’re jealous.”

She scoffed, but it sounded suspiciously like a sob and the panic was overwhelming now. If he didn’t leave right away she was going to have a complete nervous breakdown in front of him and their friendship would never recover.

“I am not!” Her voice was loud, shrill, and she immediately cast a fearful glance at Henry’s door, thankful her son slept like the dead.

“Yes you are!”

“Am not!”

“Stop bloody lying to me, Emma!” He shouted, red-faced with rage, and she gaped at him. She had _never_ seen him so angry. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she stared at him wide-eyed in shock. “You know how I feel about you. How I’ve _always_ felt about you.”

  
She opened her mouth to deny it but the look he gave her could have melted stone so she clamped up and prayed to God she wouldn’t cry.

“I _love_ you, Emma,” he said, shaking his head sadly. She couldn’t help the choking gasp that escaped her lips or the tears that finally spilled over. “Haven’t I made that clear by now? That I want you, _all_ of you, every _inch_ – good _and_ bad, right or wrong. I love you so bloody much I . . .” He sighed and a piece of her died. “But you’ve always made it clear you see me as nothing more than a friend to you and surrogate father to Henry. I can’t – I _can’t_ just wait around hoping…”

His voice trailed off. There was so much she wanted to say but she didn’t trust her voice, was terrified of what might come out of her mouth. So she just stared at him silently, tears spilling down her cheeks, lips quivering and chest shaking with the force of her resistance. They’re in some sort of standoff, she realized, his expression changing from hopeful to heartbroken, his face falling and hardening with each moment of silence. There’s agony in his eyes and she has never hated herself more.

_I love you too,_ she wanted to say; she was screaming it internally. _But – but – but._

There was always a “but.”

He turned on his heel, just like that, and she watched him walk to the door without looking back. As it clicked shut behind him, her legs finally gave way and she collapsed into a crumpled ball on the floor, sobbing quietly into her hands.

  
She was so hopelessly in love with him, what the hell was she going to do? How could she possibly navigate this situation when she was so terrified to give him her heart, even after he’d just poured his out to her and gave her the perfect opportunity to reciprocate?  
  


She hadn’t taken it.

Instead she’d brought up Milah, using her completely insignificant presence in Killian’s life as an excuse to keep him at arm’s length, and now she was certain not only had she ruined their friendship, she’d likely ruined his relationship with Henry too.

_Oh, God, Henry!_

  
The reminder of her son brought on a fresh wave of panic.

Killian was supposed to take Henry to the Red Sox game tomorrow with his coworker and his coworker’s son, who was close to Henry’s age. It was Big Papi Bobblehead Day and Henry loved those little things. The day had been planned for weeks and now she didn’t know. Would Killian even show up? Had she pushed him away for good? Would her baby grow up without a father after all?

  
This is exactly what she had been afraid of.

Emma forced herself to her feet, dragging them down the hall as she slithered out of her dress and flung herself onto her bed.

She cried herself to sleep and prayed everything would be better by morning.

-

Emma awoke a little past eight to the sounds of Henry babbling to himself through the baby monitor. Flashbacks to the fight with Killian – the worst they’d ever had – flickered through her mind as soon as she opened her eyes and her stomach twisted painfully with dread. He was supposed to pick Henry up at nine – a quick glance at her phone showed no messages from him either cancelling or confirming.

She was certain he wouldn’t show. Killian had just hung around longer than most but that didn’t mean he would stay forever. Everyone always left or pushed her away (her birth parents, countless foster parents, Neal) and last night, Killian had finally been added to that increasingly long list. She supposed it was a good thing that Henry was so young because he’d never remember just how close he and Killian had been. It might hurt in the beginning, because of how deeply he loved his “Dada” … but he would get over it eventually.

She, on the other hand…

She quickly brushed her teeth and pulled her hair up into a messy bun, throwing on an oversized dark plaid shirt she’d stolen from Killian (she needed to feel close to him even if she wasn’t) and her favorite old, beat-up pair of leggings.

She pushed into Henry’s room to find him standing up in his crib facing the door, waiting for her. He waved and jumped up and down in excitement at her appearance.

“Mama!”

Having him was the best decision she’d ever made in her life and she had Killian to thank for convincing her she could be a mom, and a pretty damn good one at that. Looking into her baby boy’s eyes was always a comfort and joy to her, even on mornings like this when she thought her heart would never recover.

“Hi baby! You hungry?”

He nodded, holding out his arms for her as she pulled him up into her embrace. She bathed him and put him in his little David Ortiz jersey and Red Sox cap, just on the off-chance Killian did come by to take him to the game after all. She carried him to the kitchen, slipping him easily into his high chair as she began breakfast.

Just as she’d finished spooning out a small cup of oatmeal and banana for Henry and began fixing her own plate, there was a familiar double knock on the front door followed almost immediately by the sound of a key turning in the lock.

Her heart pounding in her throat, Emma darted a glance to the door as she saw Killian timidly peek his head in, spot her through the living room in the kitchen and hesitate, ever so slightly, silently asking permission.

She was ashamed that he clearly felt unwelcome and uncertain but was thrilled that he’d come anyway.

Maybe there was still hope.

( _He’s just here for Henry and you know it_ , the little demon voice inside her said, and she forcefully pushed it away).

She tried to ignore the way her pulse raced at the sight of him, aching to touch him, her lips to kiss him. He looked like she felt: total hell – dark circles under his eyes and wild and unruly hair; as if he hadn’t slept a wink.

  
Yet, in his trusty black leather jacket, Sox tee and dark blue jeans, he looked so gorgeous he took her breath away.

“Hey,” she said when she thought she could speak; her voice still gruff, throat sore from her late night weeping.

“Hi,” he said, standing inside the door, scratching the back of his neck in that nervous tic that made her love him so much she felt sick. She saw him look pointedly at her shirt – _his_ shirt – and her chest ached. “Henry ready?”

“Dada!” The boy in question cried at the sound of Killian’s voice, craning his neck out of his high chair to see where he was. Killian grinned as he walked past her (his familiar spicy musk filled her nostrils so acutely she had to resist closing her eyes in bliss) and greeted the toddler bouncing in his high chair.

“Hi lad! Ready for your first Sox game?”

“You came,” she heard herself say as she watched him bop Henry on the nose and elicit a string of bubbly toddler giggles.

Killian’s head whipped around sharply at that and his brow rose in question. “Why does that you surprise you?”

“I’m not – it doesn’t!” she stuttered defensively, _too_ defensively as she realized with shame that she _was_ surprised.

Killian had _never_ let her down but it was hard to break a lifetime habit of expecting the worst in people.

He frowned at her, his voice quiet, expression sad. “Swan, I swore to you before Henry was born that I would always be there for him and I meant it. Just because you don’t want me doesn’t mean I’d take that out on him.”

She felt nauseated with guilt. He’d told her he loved her last night and she’d just stared at him like a mute, emotionless moron. The sadness in his eyes magnified her own. “I never said I didn’t want you,” she whispered pathetically.

“Your silence spoke volumes, Swan.”

She flushed with shame. “It was a shock,” she said. “And I just – I scare easily, Killian. You know that.”

He stared at her, the fingers of his left hand flexing as if he was resisting some impulse to touch her. “Aye. And I love you anyway.”

And just like that, she was crying again. “ _Killian_.”

He took a step toward her.

“And I don’t mean ‘I love you’ like a friend, Swan. Just in case that wasn’t clear last night.”

He took another step toward her and she could see nothing but that reverence for her in his eyes.

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._

  
She was going to break.

The tips of his Converse touched the tips of her fuzzy slipper-clad feet and suddenly he was so close she could see _everything_ – the flecks of dark navy in his bright blue eyes; his uneven eyeliner, as if his hand shook during its application; the agony warring with the adoration in the depths of his gaze; the twitch in his jaw as he clearly fought to hold himself back.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to just be your _friend_ anymore, Swan. I can’t. I want more. _I need_ _more_.” He licked his lips and she watched him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his scruff-covered throat. “And I think that you love me too and that you need more too. I know you’re afraid. But love – you don’t have to be. Not of me.”

Blinded by the tears that fell unhindered from her eyes, Emma’s heart soared.

Her hand curled around his bicep to steady her weakened knees, and that was all the permission he needed to cup her face in his hand and delicately brush the tears from her cheeks.

“Killian-” Her voice was as unsteady as she felt.

“Emma.”

He was pleading with her, she could see it plain as day even through her tears, could feel the longing vibrating off of him in waves, it seemed to mesh and blend with her own, and she let out a sob she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in as the hand on his bicep slid up his arm to thread through the ends of his hair, cupping the back of his neck.

“I am scared,” she admitted, voice rough like sandpaper.

“Me too.”

“You are?”

“Of course,” he chuckled softly. “Loving someone you’re afraid doesn’t love you back is scary.”

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She’d been so selfish and self-absorbed about this, wallowing in her insecurities and fear – it had never even occurred to her Killian might be just as scared and unsure as she. Hope bubbled within her.

But -

“What if we don’t work?”

  
“We will.”

“But what if-”

His other hand slid up to frame her face as he leaned down until his mouth was inches from hers. “Emma?”

She wanted him to kiss her so badly her entire body vibrated in anticipation. “Yes?”

“Do you love me?”

  
Moment of truth and she couldn’t lie or evade even if she wanted to. He’d laid his heart on the line for her – more than once. It was time she did the same.

She tearfully sighed “yes” and took that last terrifying step into the unknown.

  
He kissed her.

After fifteen years of friendship, he finally kissed her.

And just like that, she was gone.

Up on the tips of her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, drinking from his lips like a starving woman stumbling across a mirage in the desert, sighing happily when his arm slid around her waist to pull her flush against him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she wept against his lips. Now that she’d told him, she couldn’t seem to stop; they were a mantra repeated on an endless loop in her head and she didn’t think she’d ever tire of saying them.

Lips swollen from her kisses, he pulled back to gaze at her in awe, like she was the best thing he’d ever seen in his life, and her heart soared. “God…” He looked utterly dazzled and completely wrecked – exactly how she felt. “I’ve loved you for so long, Swan... Since we were young.”

She grinned, squeezing her eyes shut to relish the beauty of the moment: the feeling of his arms around her, the spicy scent of him under her nose, the mint of his toothpaste on her tongue, the splendor of his words.

_He had loved her all along._

Sighing deeply, she relaxed fully into his embrace.

All of the pain and uncertainty and heartache of these last few months had been more than worth it.

What a difference a few hours could make.

Reminded of their horrible fight, she frowned, raking her nails over the scruff shadowing his chin. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Me too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He kissed her until she was dizzy and breathless, clinging to him in a daze. He pulled her flush against him, his palms sliding down to cup her ass, moaning when she felt him hard and ready against her belly. He tilted his head to devour her and she willingly went right under, cupping his face in her hands to match his kiss beat for beat. Her body was on fire, heart pounding in her ears, panties soaked through with her arousal and she pressed herself against him wantonly, rolling her hips against his, _needing_ _more_.

It wasn’t until Henry shrieked in impatience behind them that they jumped apart, guiltily casting glances at the toddler in his high chair they had completely forgotten all about, who was staring at them with an open-mouthed grin.

“Mama Dada _kiss_!” He said happily, puckering his lips in an adorable imitation of his parents.

  
Emma was sure she blushed from head to toe and Killian didn’t fare much better. Reluctantly he released her from his embrace, chuckling as he walked over to ruffle his fingers through Henry’s hair before pulling him up out of the chair.

“You’re right my lad, I got distracted kissing your Mummy.” He pressed his lips against Henry’s forehead and she flushed at the memory of them against her own. “It’s just – I’ve been waiting my whole life to do that.”

When he looked at her she felt her insides turn to mush, pulse racing and gut clenching, his blue eyes almost black with desire.

It should be illegal for a man to be that fucking sexy. She licked her lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth, and in two strides he was back in her space to kiss her again just as thoroughly as before.

Henry squirmed between them and Emma reluctantly pushed Killian back, nuzzling her nose against his.

“You guys have fun today.”

Killian’s free arm slid around her waist so he could press a kiss to her hair. “Promise me when I get home this won’t have been a dream?”

She melted at his casual use of the word “home” and the way her insides twisted with bliss at the thought, but she knew what he was _really_ saying. _Promise me you won’t freak out again and change your mind._

Emma smiled sadly, leaning up on her toes until they were nearly eye level. “I don’t want to spend a night like last night _ever_ again.” Her voice shook at the memory and when his hand came up to brush hair from her face, she leaned into his palm.

“Neither do I.”

“I won’t run, Killian,” she told him fiercely, holding his gaze. “I promise. I’ll never run from you.”

“Good,” he whispered, pressing his lips against hers for another firm kiss. Now that they’d started, it was nearly impossible to stop.

She cupped his face in her hands to rub her mouth along his, wanting to remind herself that she could, that this was real. “What time do you think you’ll be back?”

He shrugged. “Five or six at the latest?”

  
She glanced at the clock – 9:25AM – and sighed. Long day. Now that she had him and they were finally on the same page, she didn’t want to let him out of her sight. “See you tonight?” She didn’t just mean when he brought Henry home. She meant –

Then she remembered his bowling date with Milah and was certain her face fell because he leaned in, despite Henry’s squirming protests, and kissed her again, long and deep. “Yes,” he whispered resolutely as he pulled away.

Deciding she didn’t give a fuck how he dealt with Milah as long as the woman was officially out of the picture for good, Emma grinned as he linked his fingers through hers and walked them out into the living room. She helped him pack up Henry’s stuff for the day – diapers, toys, snacks – and then he set the little boy on his feet so he could take her back into his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless and leaning against one another for support.

“God, I’ve dreamt of kissing you since we were twelve.”

  
Emma laughed, blushing. “Me too, I think.”

More deep, soul-stirring, back-bending kisses, and somewhere in her Killian-addled brain Emma marveled over just how good he was at this, the way he nibbled on her lower lip before slowly slurping it into his mouth, the way he suckled on her tongue until she could feel the vibrations between her thighs, the tenderness with which he held her that made her feel like the most precious woman in the world. It was easy to forget everyone and everything, to drown out the sounds of Henry babbling and banging on the wall with his hands; easy to focus on nothing but Killian’s hard body pressed against hers, his strong arms tight around her waist as his soft mouth plundered the depths of her own.

“I don’t want to stop,” he groaned as he finally pulled away so they could breathe, and when he buried his face in her neck, tickling the skin of her throat with his scruff, her legs almost completely gave out beneath her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on to him tightly.

“Later,” she whispered, pressing a kiss under his ear. “Tonight.”

He pulled back to look at her, his gaze smoldering. “Tonight.”

He was fucking her with his eyes so well she could only imagine what he could do with his cock. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she tried to smile. “We’ll stay in. I’ll make dinner. Open a bottle of wine. Talk. Or...” She let the statement hang in the air as they stared at one another until she couldn’t stand it any longer, blushing as she leaned down to press a kiss to Henry’s cheek. “Bye baby. Have fun at the game! Go Sox!”

“Bye Mama! Go Sos’!” He waved as Killian took his hand and she bit her lip to keep from weeping.

Her cup runneth over.

  
She leaned up to kiss Killian again, giddy about the fact that she was now allowed to whenever she wanted.

“Try to wear him out, okay? So Mommy and Daddy can have some uninterrupted alone time tonight.”

-

After her boys left, Emma spent the next hour lying on her bed in a daze replaying the feel of Killian’s mouth on hers, the taste and texture of his tongue, the solidity of his body pressed against her; how perfectly they fit together. She felt like a teenager who’d finally been kissed by her crush, not a grown woman and mother who had finally connected with the man she loved.

She started to call Mary Margaret so she would have someone to flail with, but remembered her friend was on her honeymoon and decided it was for the best. She and Killian should take the time they had to themselves before their friends all found out as a blessing to really navigate what exactly this change to their relationship meant.

Eventually she forced herself out of bed, changing her sheets and cleaning her room. She opened the windows to air out the apartment as she vacuumed and dusted, turning on the game at 1 just in case she caught a glimpse of Killian and Henry in the stands – even though the odds were slim and she had no idea where they were even sitting.

Around 2, she hopped in the shower, rinsing off all of the dust and dirt from cleaning and the misery from the night before; washing her hair, shaving her legs and humming contentedly to herself as she tapped her foot and swayed to the imaginary beat in her head. She spent twenty minutes in her closet agonizing over what to wear, finally slipping into a long bright red dress with a plunging neckline. It was both comfortable and sexy, hugging the curves of her body like a second skin. She also had a very vivid memory of the last time Killian had seen her in it – she’d caught him looking at her all night, blushing scarlet each time she did as if he was thinking of unspeakably naughty things to do to her.

Tonight he’d get that chance.

A quick glance at the TV told her the Sox were losing 3-1 and an even quicker glance through fridge and pantry convinced her to run down to the market to pick up bits and pieces for dinner – Killian’s favorite, her baked mac and cheese with applewood-smoked bacon and crispy breadcrumbs.

By the time she got back to the apartment, the Sox had tied it 3-3 in the bottom of the 8th and she began to feel nervous. Not about the game, because she really didn’t give a fuck about baseball, but because it was almost over and Killian would be home soon and then this would be really real.

She put the mac and cheese in the oven and set the table, considered lighting candles and then immediately decided against it. The Sox won in spectacular walk-off home run fashion (thanks to Dustin Pedroia) and she was happy because Killian would be happy and because Henry, even though he was too young to remember it, had a pretty awesome first Fenway Park experience.

She brushed her hair in big waves over one shoulder like she had the night before. As she swallowed her birth control pill, it occurred to her with glee that she would actually _need_ it tonight (even she secretly loved the idea of having more babies with Killian – someday.)

She was just pulling the mac and cheese out of the oven when her boys got home.

(The thought of a lifetime of moments like this one made her ache.)

Henry was half asleep on Killian’s shoulder and barely acknowledged her existence as he blinked exhaustedly into space while his father stared at her in her long red frock like he was undressing her with his eyes.

He started to walk past her toward Henry’s room but changed his mind, pressing her against the wall to kiss her quick and deep.

She laced her hand through his and they put Henry to bed, the exhausted toddler barely stirring as Emma changed his diaper while Killian slipped him into Peter Pan pajamas.

Then they walked hand-in-hand back to the kitchen.

“I made mac and cheese-” she started to say, but he pushed her up against the table, cupped her face in his hands, and pressed his mouth to hers, clearly hungry for something other than food.

They kissed for minutes, hours, maybe years.

_Mac and cheese be damned_.

She grabbed his hand to lead him to her room.

Not missing a beat, Killian kicked the door shut behind him, spinning her right back into the circle of his arms, his mouth hungry and insistent on hers. Back up on her toes, she kissed him until they were both breathless, clutching the collar of his shirt in her hands.

His fingers drummed a beat low on her back, tangling in the ends of her hair as she pressed her forehead to his and inhaled his scent.

“Swan,” he murmured her name softly.

“Mmmm.”

His hands slid over her curves and she whimpered, cupping his face as she peppered kisses from his lips to his jaw down his neck, loving the scrape of his beard against her skin, his taste on her tongue, his scent in her nose.

They undressed one another slowly and reverently in between deep, hungry kisses, and she pushed him to sit on the foot of her bed as she stood before him in nothing but her favorite (and let’s be real, _only_ ) pair of sexy underwear; the sheer red lace clearly having the exact effect on him she’d intended.

“You’re so bloody beautiful, love,” he whispered in awe. “Breathtaking.”

She crawled into his lap, sliding her hands over his bare shoulders and chest, luxuriating in the feel of silky hair, hard muscle and soft skin beneath her fingertips.

“So are you,” she sighed as his arm tightening protectively around her waist while the other roamed her face, caressing her cheek, brushing over her lips, dipping into the dimple in her chin.

He pulled her in for a deep bruising kiss, her head spinning when they came up for air. His hands memorized the curves of her body, caressing her arms, her shoulders, cupping her breasts; and she ground her hips down over his arousal, whimpering when he pulled a lacy cup aside to slurp her puckered nipple into his mouth, kneading its twin in his oversized palm.

“Killian,” she whined, threading her fingers through his hair to hold him in place while she continued to pivot and roll her hips down to his. He met her thrust for thrust until she was soaking through her underwear and dampening the crotch of his, the rough ridge of his cock rubbing her exactly where she needed.

“You’re glorious,” he breathed as he licked a line from her breast up her throat to draw her lower lip into his mouth and pull her in for another backbreaking kiss.

She could hardly believe this was real, that after all of this time he was here making love to her. She clung to him, gasping when his arms tightened around her to roll her over and cover her body with his. He blazed a trail of fiery, possessive kisses down her body, suckling each peak of her breasts so hard she felt it directly between her legs; pulling her underwear down her long legs, his fingers spreading her already parted thighs even farther to dip into her sopping wet cleft.

She cried out his name, arching her back as she thrust her hips against his probing fingers, gasping when she felt his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses into her stomach, his free hand fondling her breast on its way to bracketing her hip.

“Killian!” she whined as his lips ventured down her pelvis until she felt his scruffy chin scraping against the delicate bare skin at the apex of her thighs.

Her stomach cramped in anticipation, his warm breath hovered over her aching mons, his hand steadily pumping in and out of her sopping wet core as his thumb rubbed a steady rhythm on her clit. She pressed herself up on her elbows, staring down at him between her legs with hooded eyes, barely able to believe what was happening.  
  
Then Killian put his mouth on her and all coherence fled her brain.

She bit her lip so hard she saw stars, the hand she’d slid into his hair gripping him tighter as her hips locked around his head and his lips and teeth and tongue did things to her she never knew were possible.

As she came back to her body, she felt Killian’s mouth trailing kisses up her still-quivering frame; settling himself firmly between her thighs as he stopped to worship her breasts again, unclasping her bra and licking a path up her chest to press his mouth to hers.

Spurred on by the tang of her release on his tongue, Emma kissed him sloppily, rejuvenated from the orgasm she still felt in her bones. Her ache for him was indescribable, her core throbbing with the need to be filled by him as she clawed at his boxers before dipping her toes under the waistband to push the material down his thighs until his cock bobbed free. He pressed his mouth to hers and she swallowed his groan as she reached between them to fist a thick, throbbing shaft in her hands, her entire body alive with anticipation.

He was bigger than she’d imagined and she could not _wait_ to feel him inside of her.

“Oh gods, love,” he sounded wrecked, absolutely tortured, and Emma couldn’t resist chuckling as she nibbled on his delectably pink lower lip.

She wrapped her legs high around his waist, writhing with excitement as he rubbed the head of his thick warmth against her slickness.

“Swan,” he panted her name, waiting patiently for her to open her eyes and look at him. When she did, he entered her in one long, forceful thrust, burying himself inside her at last, filling and stretching her, swallowing her gasp with his own. She clung to him as he began to move, her nails digging into the sweat-slicked skin of his biceps as she gazed directly into his eyes – and _soul._

“Oh God, I love you,” she cried as she met him thrust for thrust, beat for beat, kiss for kiss. “So much.”

He looked completely mesmerized as he rolled his hips experimentally into hers, watching her face for signs of approval, doubling down on every twitch, thrust or twist that made her whimper with ecstasy. “Fuck. Swan. Love… you’re so tight. So warm. Wet. Feel so good.” She could get drunk on that look in his eye and the pinched, agonized tone of his voice. “Better than I ever dreamed.”

“You too.”

She couldn’t stop staring at him, wanting to commit every expression on his face to memory, tracing his features with her hand as she prayed she never forgot a single moment of this incredible experience.

  
“ _Am_ I dreaming?”

“If you are, so am I,” she gasped as his thrusts deepened. She sighed his name, writhing against him as he stroked long and slow inside her, certain she’d completely unravel before they were done.

When she came again, her orgasm ricocheted through her so violently she bit the inside of her lip hard enough to taste blood, tears rolling down her face as she dug her nails into the skin of his back. She was only vaguely aware of the change of motion in Killian’s hips – his thrusts erratic and shallow now, his jaw set tight from the force of denied release.

Desperate to make it as good for him as it was for her, she popped and circled her hips beneath him, pulling his head to one breast while she tweaked the center of the other with her fingers. Seconds later he followed her into the madness, moaning her name long and low into her skin as he emptied himself inside her still fluttering core.

“Am I dreaming?” He asked again moments later after he’d collapsed boneless atop her frame, their bodies still intimately joined.

Emma smiled, tilting her face into his neck to inhale his scent as she enjoyed the feeling of him on top of and inside of her. “Best dream ever.”

He hummed contentedly, shifting himself off of her with a groan and she immediately felt bereft at the loss. When he curled his hand around her shoulder and pulled her with him, she rolled into him and nuzzled her face into his chest hair.

She was pleasantly sore in places she hadn’t been in years. He stroked his fingers through her hair as they lay together in contented silence.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You know why,” he said wryly, and his arms tightened around her.

She did know why, just as she knew in her heart that would never be an issue now.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up,” she whispered, lifting her head up to look at him and take in his exquisite beauty. Those deep-set blue eyes, pupils blown wide with lust; the rosy pink perfection of his mouth, swollen from her kisses; the scar on his cheek that gave him distinction and an air of danger; the scruff whose burn she now wore proudly on her breasts, stomach and thighs; souvenirs of their lovemaking.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled as he nuzzled his face into her hair. “All that matters is that you did. I think I would have waited forever for you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to,” she whispered.

“Me too.”

She leaned up to kiss him, rolling her body on top of his, straddling his waist. The next time they made love, she rode him hard and fast, headboard slamming into the wall, his grip leaving marks on her hips.

Afterwards, she slithered out of bed to pee – observing her well-fucked expression in the mirror above her dresser with delight – and burst out laughing at the sound of Killian’s stomach growling loudly behind her.

She dragged him into the kitchen so she could reheat the mac and cheese; while he popped a bottle of cheap Champagne (“to celebrate, love”) she just happened to have chilling in the fridge.

She slid their dinner into the oven, and then turned to Killian, reaching up on the tips of her toes to nuzzle his nose with hers. “10:10, make a wish,” she murmured, gesturing to the clock on the stove.

His fingers moved lightly down her back and through the ends of her hair as he gazed softly into her face.

“It already came true,” he whispered. “Finally.”

\- FIN -


End file.
